


Gamma Ray Burst

by smarmsi



Series: Voltron!!! On Ice [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Ice Skating, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Pidge is a little gremlin, gay ice skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 06:31:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarmsi/pseuds/smarmsi
Summary: noun: an extremely energetic explosion observed in distant galaxies; the brightest electromagnetic event known to occur in the universe.Lance comes back. He makes a bigger splash than he expected.





	Gamma Ray Burst

**Author's Note:**

> ha ha ha hoooly shit that hiatus was four months longer than I expected
> 
> spanish translation is at the bottom  
> -  
> want to scream with me about Voltron? My tumblr is [here](http://smarmsi.tumblr.com/)!

Three hours before he’s meant to skate at his first Grand Prix Final, Lance gets a call from his mother.

 _Abuela está muy enferma_. _No…no estamos seguros_ …

xx

_Lance McClain to Take Season Off_

The newest star in the figure skating world has stolen our hearts with his charm and his looks, not to mention his adorable kitten, Celeste. But the Cuban-raised skater recently announced on social media that he will not be returning to skate this next season, instead taking time off for personal reasons. McClain’s accounts on Instagram and Twitter alike have been almost dead compared to the constant barrage of bad selfies, training updates, and cat pictures they were just a few months ago. It leaves us to wonder: what happened? Perhaps this is in direct relation to McClain’s performance at and disappearance after the Grand… **[Cont.]**

_Related: McClain’s Crash and Burn at Grand Prix Final_

_Related: Is this the End for the Ice Prince? Rumors of Kogane’s Retirement_

_Related: Top 10 Cutest Photos of Athletes and Their Pets_

xx

He lands harder than necessary after the quad loop and throws an arm out to balance himself, scowling. Damn, this part is difficult. Maybe downgrading to a triple would help…

Lance mentally flags the part he’s messed up and continues the routine, transitioning into the step sequence. It’s rough going – the choreography requires quick, sharp movements that feel unnatural on the ice, and Lance’s exercise regimen for the past few months, diligent as it’s been, hasn’t prepped him for the goddamn _flair_ of this routine. His body is inconsistent at best and downright untrustworthy otherwise.

He fumbles once, ice spraying, and fumbles again – and, alright, that’s enough for now. Lance skates a wide, loose circle around the rink, making sure to give enough room to Pidge, whose free skate music is pouring from the speakers. It’s a new routine, upbeat and playful to fit their theme this year. Lance grabs his water bottle from the rink’s ledge as he watches them fly across the silver ice, and marvels at how much they’ve grown in only a year.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you wearing such a deep frown while skating, Lance! Something troubling?” Coran peers at him, leaning over the rink and absently twirling his mustache. Lance grins at his coach and leans back, slouching against the side.

“Nah, just hard choreo. Harder than usual, I mean, since I’ve been gone and all.” The A/C coughs on, filling the arena with a breeze that stirs up the cold air blanketing the ice and spills it over the rink’s barricade.

“Yes, I expected as much. Also, if I’m not mistaken…that was Kogane’s routine, wasn’t it?”

Lance’s grin grows wider. “Yeah, I’ve been working on it. What could get me back to decent better than the GPF-winning skate, right?”

Coran gives him a look, twiddling with his facial hair. It’s exasperated and fond and searching, and Lance doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it, but Coran claps his hands together before Lance can ask.

“Well, I’m very glad you’re pushing yourself for this season, but remember what I always say! Don’t chop—”

“—chop wood for another’s fire,’ trust me, Coran, no firewood is getting chopped here.”

Coran laughs, a hearty sound that Lance has missed. “Right! Well, let’s see what you’ve been working on with Allura then, shall we?”

Lance works his own routines for the rest of practice, experimenting and feeling out the music he’s picked. One is a fast-paced mambo, and Lance adores it – he picked it specifically because it reminds him of the street performers in his hometown, spinning wildly in their colorful skirts and giving flowers to children. The other is a slower piece composed by his abuela’s favorite pianist. Lance thinks it’s a fitting piece to honor his family after what they’ve been through these past few months.

Allura has a lot of say in what Lance gets to put into performances, but at the end of the day, it’s Lance who creates the programs he skates. It’s been this way since Lance moved up from juniors, when Coran finally let him start researching and developing his own style. He’d gone a little wild—putting on and taking off techniques like clothing, copying older skaters shamelessly. His theme that year was ‘rebirth,’ and in the strictest sense, it was true – Lance had finally grown into his body and rebalanced. He snatched up anything and everything that excited or amazed him and incorporated it into his skating, learning and practicing so many different choreographies that he barely remembered his own.

That was the year Lance discovered Keith Kogane.

Lance isn’t sure how he never noticed the other skater in juniors. Looking back, they’ve been in the same competitions too many times for it to be a simple mistake. It doesn’t really matter, though, because the year Lance entered seniors was the year he learned the difference between skating and _skating_.

Allura and Coran don’t know, but Lance has been working on these two programs since the week after his self-destruct at the GPF. Skating was the only thing he had a handle on, even if the little rink in Havana had barely enough room for a full routine. The familiar chill of the ice and the bright florescent lights kept him grounded.

“Hey loser, stop dreaming about new programs and get over here,” Pidge calls, slapping their palm against the rink’s barricade. Lance almost flips them off, but sees the camera just in time. Instead he sticks his tongue out. Pidge just bangs louder until Lance starts moving in their direction.

“Coming at’cha live from Altea Rink, Lance McClain, everybody! And what a lovely view we have this evening!” Lance winks at the phone being shoved in his space.

“Glad to be back and working hard! Hey, Pidge’s crew,” he greets, making a face and waving. Coran had okayed Lance to make an appearance in Pidge’s weekly Insta-live, ‘as a teaser,’ so Lance isn’t worried about the waves this video is bound to make.

Pidge laughs their little gremlin laugh and shows him the screen—comments fly up the feed, hearts and crying emojis and incomprehensible key smashing in reaction to his sudden entrance. “How soon before you’re being contacted for an interview, do you think?” Pidge asks, smirk ever-present on their face. They’ve already changed into street clothes – clunky shoes and a shirt that almost swallows them – since their practice ends an hour before Lance’s does. “Geez, calm down, guys,” they say, talking to the live viewers. “I know it’s exciting, yes, we all love Lance, no, he won’t marry you. Hey, someone wants you to flash your abs.”

Lance laughs, shocked and amused. “Anything for my fans, right?” He asks, and stretches in full view of the camera, knowing his shirt is just a little too short for modesty. Pidge shakes their head in amusement.

“How’s Celeste doing?” They read, eyes scanning the feed. Lance knows they’re avoiding the questions about his absence and feels a rush of affection for his young rink mate.

“Oh, she’s doing amazing! She’s grown so much, I’ll have to post some pics soon. I taught her to play dead and how to dance, too! My little baby’s all grown up,” he sniffs, wiping a fake tear away.

“All right, one last question before we gotta go. Any hints you can give your fans about your programs this season?” Lance hums.

“I can’t say much yet, guys, you know how it is. But…” his gaze drifts to the side. “I think it’s gonna be a memorable year.” With that, he finger guns at the camera. “Expect a lot from me!”

Pidge laughs and turns the camera on themselves. “Alright, that’s all I have time for today! Like I said earlier, first competition is in two weeks, so watch out for that! Also, if any of you have recipes for healthy brownies, I am in great need, so hit me up on my YouTube channel. See you guys same time next week, Pidge out!”

Lance leans on the barrier and into Pidge’s personal space to see what they’re doing with their phone. Pidge downloads the video and sends it to their email to upload to YouTube later. “Skate Daily is gonna be so mad,” they say. “They’ve been bothering Coran for a scoop since you left.” Their glasses slip down their nose a little and they shove at the bridge absentmindedly.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Ice Network has dibs on AR and Skate Daily knows it. Besides, there’s been rumors circulating since I landed in the US. It’s not that much of a scoop.”

“Yeah, since rumors are a great source of information. Did you know the ice prince is retiring and I’m suing the ISU for gender identity discrimination?”

Lance scowls. “Kogane isn’t retiring.” Pidge’s eyebrows lift, expression a mix of ‘ _my point’_ and ‘ _goddamn it, not this again._ ’ “He’s not! It’d be stupid, he’s at his peak right now and has two GPF medals to back him; with his skill level and the artistry—”

“Oh my god, I _know_ , Lance, you’ve only told the entire rink forty times! Get your hard-on for the guy under control already.” Lance squawks.

“I do not—! His programs! I’m just appreciating art! You’d understand if you didn’t have such horrible taste! Kogane’s programs are transformative—”

Pidge groans, long and loud, drowning out the rest of his sentence. He clamps his lips shut, cheeks reddening, but Lance won’t take anything back. Everything he said is true – Kogane really is a force to be reckoned with on the ice, and watching him skate is watching history being made.

Maybe it’s a little weird for Lance to be so inspired by someone his own age. They’re competitors—Lance is supposed to hate his guts, right? Or at least have a healthy disrespect for anything the other does. And yeah, Lance disapproves of Kogane’s methods of existing when he’s off the ice—the dude has the approachability of a bear with that scowl and terrible posture—but on it?

Lance’s first competition in seniors was right after he had just turned seventeen. He’d been chatting with a girl who’d competed in the women’s skate the day before when she’d gone silent and nudged him.

“Keith Kogane’s up next,” she said, and her tone had made it sound like a deity was passing by. Lance hadn’t recognized the boy on the television until he’d turned and that signature mullet came into view.

“Oh, I skated against him in juniors,” Lance said. Had he been trying to impress the girl? She turned to look at him with stars in her eyes anyway.

“Really? What’s he like? Was he as good then as he is now?” Lance had just shrugged, not sure what she was asking. Kogane had been…alright? They’d never interacted and he wasn’t a hot chick, so he hadn’t really been on Lance’s radar.

Obviously, Keith had done better than alright, if _this_ was the reaction to him stepping on the ice. The girl looked like she was about to faint and Lance wanted to know what the big deal was about this mullet-head—so he kept watching.

Lance swears up and down that he’s not being dramatic when he says his life changed that day. Just—it—there aren’t any words to describe it, and Lance knows two languages.

Kogane’s skating…it makes Lance ache, deep in his chest. Every jump leaves him breathless. When Kogane skates, is as if Lance is right beside him, feeling the ice beneath his blades, the torque of his spins, the impact of his jumps.

Lance isn’t one for deep analysis of art—let beautiful things be beautiful, is his motto—but there’s something so _striking_ about Kogane’s programs. That something is why Lance has been nearly killing his feet, chasing after that elusive feeling of connection. Maybe when he finds it he’ll figure out why he’s so obsessed.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” A heavy arm drapes across his shoulders and Lance reaches across the rink wall to loop a hand around Hunk’s waist out of habit.

“Pidge is—”

“Lance is word-vomiting about Kogane again,” Pidge interrupts. Lance swipes at the smaller skater, but Hunk holds him back with a laugh.

“Isn’t it always Kogane?”

“I’m not that bad, guys, geez. Besides, he’s just been on my mind lately since I’m learning his GPF skate. Gotta get in the mindset for drama, you know?”

Hunk starts. “His GPF skate? Isn’t that, like, really difficult? Are you sure you’re physically and emotionally ready for that? After…y’know…” he trails off with an awkward look, and Lance flinches.

Hunk had been there. They were cousins, and it was a family matter, so of course he was. He’d been at the rink in Havana as much as Lance, since he was a professional hockey player. No slacking off for athletes, even if their inner world is shattering, huh?

That doesn’t mean he has to bring it up again so callously.

Lance pulls away. “I’ll show you.” He meant it to sound petulant, but it just comes out icy.

“Lance, I didn’t mean…” Hunk says. Lance ignores him and skates to the center of the rink. “C’mon, Lance, you don’t need to prove anything. I know you worked hard during—”

“ _Stop_ -!” Lance takes a breath. “Hunk, I’m going to skate this, and I’m going to skate it perfectly. It’s not for you, alright? It’s for me.” Pidge has disappeared, but Lance doesn’t focus on that. He turns away from Hunk and allows himself a single glare thrown at the ice in front of him, then schools his expression into something resembling…peace? Pain? And begins.

What did Kogane feel when he skated this routine for the first time? It’s a question that’s been eating at Lance since he’d first seen it.

The first jump, a quad toe loop. Lance lands it easily.

He knows Kogane’s style. Sharp, cutting, like the bite of ice in the palm of your hand and the blades on his feet, but this program…

A triple lutz. This program is softer, wilder. More painful. Almost as if Kogane is angry at himself.

Lance is angry, too—but not at himself. He’s never been enough, has he? Not good enough, not talented enough, not handsome enough. And too much—too loud, too boisterous, too dramatic. The world demands so much, and leaves so little behind. Your time, your passion, your friends.

Your family.

The quad loop—Lance lands and feels like he could destroy the world with his momentum. But there’s so much wrong and he’s only one small human. His breath nearly catches at the wave of emotion that leads him into the step sequence.

Does Keith feel this pain? Is that why he skates? To find some release for these feelings? Lance thinks he’d drown if he were to stop now. He flips into the final spin, and the tension builds, higher and higher, forcing his movements sharper and faster.

Then the tipping point—and suddenly Lance is empty, exhausted, slowing his spin and striking the last pose. It’s a good exhaustion, the kind that leaves you clean.

 _Ah_. This is skating, then.

Hunk’s clapping snaps him out of his reverie. Lance drops his arms and skates back to the wall.

“Holy cow, Lance! That was amazing!” Hunk says, eyes bright. Lance grins at him, feeling like a ghost.

“Sorry for snapping earlier,” he apologizes, but Hunk waves him off and opens his mouth. Before he can say anything, though, Pidge pops up, phone in hand.

“And…posted!” They say, tapping the screen with finality. “God, people are gonna go _insane_.” Lance and Hunk stare at them, uncomprehending, until Pidge waves their phone with a terrible, terrible grin. “I videoed it.”

“ _What?!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great but comments make my week :)
> 
> Spanish translation:  
>  _Abuela está muy enferma. No…no estamos seguros… - Grandmother is very sick. We're not certain..._  
>  (All my Spanish knowledge comes from high school courses, living in south Texas, and google. Don't hesitate to send me a message if I wrote something wrong! I only know bits of Mexican Spanish, not Cuban Spanish.)


End file.
